


The Twelve Murders Of Christmas

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Holiday, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys' Christmas holiday is disrupted by a serial killer with a<br/>really *interesting* MO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twelve Murders Of Christmas

## The Twelve Murders Of Christmas

by Ami

Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly. The Avon lady, however, is mine.

This was betad by Bobbie and Alex, both great betas.

I couldn't find any pewter ornaments like I was thinking of,   
so I made them up. Hallmark's 2002 Holiday Commemorative Keepsake Ornaments are nothing like I described in the story. Consider it creative license.   
The *real* 12 days of Christmas *are* following Christmas. That part of the   
story is true.   
http://www.freetranslation.com is the actual website I used when writing this   
story. It's a great resource. 

* * *

"Wha...?" Jim was startled awake by the phone ringing in his ear. He checked the clock -- 3:14 in the morning. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed the receiver. "Ellison!" he barked, his ingrained police training managing to override his tiredness. 

"Jim. We got another one," his boss's voice came over the phone. 

Jim groaned, vaguely hearing his lover awaken and ask, "What's going on?" 

"So it's the third day, right, Simon," Jim said, as much to let Blair know who it was and what the call was about as to confirm his suspicions. "The pendant had three French hens, right?" 

"Right," the captain confirmed. "We need you and the kid down here ASAP." 

"All right, Captain, give us about an hour to grab some breakfast. If this keeps up, you might want to put us on the swing shift so we can manage to get a full eight-hours sleep," Jim suggested. 

"I did that right before I called you. Until this case is solved, you're officially working the 2 AM to Noon shift. I'll meet you at the scene -- 333 Paris Court." Simon hung up. 

Jim blinked, wondering if the killer was purposely killing people at those addresses -- the first victim, Dennis McCarty, had been found hanging in his backyard, from a pear tree. They didn't know the cause of death at first, since he was hanging by a rope around his neck, but they were pretty sure that the one shot through the head had killed him. Along with the rope, he was wearing a circular pewter medallion on a red silk ribbon -- it had a partridge in a pear tree on it. Dennis lived at 111 La Pera Lane. La Pera was Spanish for pear. There had also been a cassette tape in his stereo -- 'I think I love you' by David Cassidy -- of the Partridge Family. 

Victim number 2, Laura Jamison, was killed the same way and was found wearing another pendant with two turtledoves on it. She lived in Apt. 222, in the Two Tortoise Crossing Apartment complex. No tape had been present, for which Jim was extremely thankful. There had, however, been a two brown-speckled birds in a cage -- turtledoves. 

The detectives were baffled; they had no clue who was doing this, but they knew the killer was most likely going to go through all the twelve days of the song. Blair was compiling a list of places they might find the future victims; they hoped to stake out one of them and catch the killer in the act. In the meantime, they did old-fashioned legwork during the day, trying to track down anyone who might have had a grudge against one of the victims. 

"We got another one?" Blair asked sadly, pulling out a pair of jeans and some shirts from the closet. 

"Yeah," Jim said, grabbing his own clothes and patting his lover on the shoulder in commiseration for the gruesome happenings during the holiday season. "333 Paris Court. You take a shower while I fix breakfast, okay, Chief?" 

Blair grimaced. "I'm not really hungry. Just get me some coffee and a couple pieces of toast, okay, Big Guy?" 

Jim nodded. "I'll fill the thermos." He headed down the stairs. 

* * *

"What have we got?" Jim asked Dan Wolf as he and his partner entered the morgue. 

Dan shook his head. "Killed just like the others, one shot directly to the forehead. Pendant was pewter, like the first two. There were also three brown hens in a cage -- from France, according to the stamp on the box. No extraneous fibers, no prints, no witnesses -- nothing." He sighed. "I don't understand how people can do things like this to each other -- especially at Christmas." 

Blair frowned. "Yeah, it's just awful. I think I've got some pretty ideas on where he'll strike next, though." 

Dan gave the former anthropologist-now Detective a slight smile. "I hope you catch him soon." He handed Jim a file folder. "Here's the report. Hope it helps. My shift was over an hour ago, but Twelve Three came in right as I was leaving." 

"Twelve Three?" Jim questioned. 

"Twelve Days of Christmas victim number three," Dan said, grabbing his coat and leaving through the swinging doors. 

"Well, I guess we'd better get to it," Blair said, gesturing to the still-moving doors. 

"Yeah, we'd better compile a list of all the likely fourth victims," Jim said, putting a hand on Blair's back and herding him towards the elevator. 

* * *

Once they were in Major Crimes, Blair pulled up the list he'd made of probably locations for their killer to strike next. "Day Four -- Four Calling Birds. That one was a little tricky, since I'm not sure what kind of bird a calling bird is. But I've got 444 Capon Ave. Capon means 'Fowl'," he explained, looking up at Jim. 

Jim nodded. "And that's it?" he asked, disappointed. He knew it wouldn't be this easy. The killer most likely had some obscure spot picked out. 

Blair sighed. "I've got one other possible location -- 4 Bird Lane, but I'm not sure that's specific enough." 

"It's all we've got. Let's go tell Simon." Jim gestured to their boss's door. 

* * *

"I'll set up the stakeouts," Simon said as he looked over the files Blair had dug up. "In the meantime, why don't you and the kid try to trace the pendants?" 

"The pendants?" Jim asked, surprised. There must be thousand of those particular pendants floating around; how were they supposed to find one specific set? 

"You got it, captain," Blair said, grabbing his partner and hustling him out the door. 

"But _how_ are we going to trace the pendants?" Jim asked his partner as Blair plopped down in front of his computer. 

Blair booted up and started typing. "Those pendants didn't actually look like pendants to me, they looked like ornaments -- Christmas tree ornaments. I'm betting that if I run a search on pewter Christmas ornaments depicting the Twelve Days of Christmas, I'll find a match." He hit 'Enter' and sat back in chair, looking up at his lover. "Now all we have to do is wait for the search to end." 

Jim smiled at his partner's ingenuity. "Well, since we're gonna have to wait anyway..." he started off provocatively, "wanna make out in the interrogation room?" He was careful to keep his voice low; they weren't out at the station, and with the rules on partners not being 'partners' they didn't dare let anyone know. 

Heat flashed in Blair's eyes. "Oh, yeah..." 

* * *

Three hours later, after an extremely hot extended make-out session in the interrogation room, and a trip back to the loft for lunch (and to change underwear, since their make-out session got a little heated) the Sentinel and his Guide ended up back in front of the computer, scrolling through the search results. 

The ornaments turned out to have been made by Hallmark. They were the 2002 Commemorative Keepsake Ornaments Holiday set. They came as a set of all twelve, one of ten thousand sets done in a limited run of solid pewter medallions, before they switched to doing brass-plated iron versions. 

"Shit! Ten thousand people have these ornaments," Jim groaned. "We'll never find the killer this way." 

Blair sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. "Only approximately that many, because some people might have bought more than one set. But yeah, it's a dead end." He sat back in his chair, a defeated look on his face. 

Jim rubbed his partner's shoulder comfortingly. "Hey, it's not your fault, Chief. It's a clue, just not much of one.If we get any suspects, we can find out if they bought a set, and that might be enough to get a warrant." He sighed. "We'd better go home and get something to eat; we're up first on the stakeout at Capon Ave." 

** 

Their stakeout of Capon Ave. and Bird Lane proved fruitless. The killer had struck at 44 Feather Lane, home of Steven Rosters -- winner for the fourth year in a row of the Cascade Bird Calling Competition. There was a red and green parrot found at the scene -- the only thing it would say is 'Merry Christmas, Coppers.' 

"Calling bird, talking bird..." Jim grunted in disgust as he looked at the parrot. The bird couldn't be kept in evidence, so it was gracing Major Crimes' bullpen for the time being. 

"It's not your fault, kid," Simon said, clapping the morose-looking younger detective on the shoulder. "I didn't even know there _was_ an Annual Cascade Bird Calling Competition. Although it was pretty ironic that he lived at 44 Feather Lane," he finished reflectively. 

"Thanks, Captain," Blair said, but the upset look didn't leave his face. 

"Hey, Chief, we wouldn't even have put the cases together so fast without you coming up with the connection between McCarty and Jamison. We may not have saved Rosters, but without you putting together the pieces so fast, we might not have even realized we had a serial killer on our hands," Jim said, trying to give his partner some encouragement. 

"Thanks, Jim." Blair's smile didn't quite make it to his eyes. 

"So what do you have for day five?" Jim asked, trying to distract Blair from his grief. No matter how many times the rookie detective tried to 'check his emotions at the door' he couldn't. His empathy for people, even those he'd never met, was part of why Jim loved him. 

Blair sat down in front of his computer and brought up his list. "Day Five -- Five Golden Rings. I've got Apt. 555 at the Golden Pond Retirement home and 55 Shining Circle." 

"Shining Circle?" Jim asked. 

"Shining Circle, Golden Ring?" Blair quirked an eyebrow. 

Jim looked at Simon and they both nodded. 

* * *

Blair's first guess was the right one -- but by the time they got to the Golden Pond retirement home, Mrs. Emma Fitzgerald, resident of Apt. 555 had already been killed. Dan ruled it natural causes. Even thought the bullet wound was present, apparently she hadn't been shot until after death -- but the expression on her face told the detectives that she had most likely died of fright. In addition to the pewter pendant, she was also wearing five golden rings, one on each finger of her right hand. 

"Day Six -- Six Geese A-Laying," Simon said, clamping a cigar between his teeth. "Who's the most likely target, Sandburg?" 

Blair consulted his list. "66 Gooseberry Lane," he said. He looked at Simon apologetically. "That's the only one I could find." 

"I'll set it up," the tall captain told his detectives. 

* * *

"I can't believe I forgot to check the other possibilities out," Blair berated himself for the third time in as many minutes. 

"Chief, there was no way you could you have known the killer would choose another Spanish street," Jim told his lover, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The killer's sixth victim was Marissa Tom, who lived at 666 Ganso Green. Ganso was Spanish for Goose. There had been a basket with six goose eggs placed next to her body. 

"Jim, I speak half a dozen languages. I should have at least checked for foreign-named streets, especially since the first victim lived on a La Pera Lane," Blair said angrily. 

"You speak _how_ many languages?" Jim asked, surprised. 

Blair sighed, frustrated. "Well, there's English, and Naomi spent almost the whole year when I was four in Mexico, so that's Spanish. When I was six, we lived in Paris, so I learned French, and when I was eight, Naomi had a boyfriend named Paulo who taught me Italian. I learned Hebrew for my Bar Mitzvah, and after Incacha died, I learned Quechua. So that's six." 

"That's amazing. I only know three -- English, Spanish and Quechua." Jim looked at his lover with pride. 

Blair flushed with happiness. "Yeah, well, it's easier to learn a new language when you're younger," he dismissed his accomplishments. "Besides, we need to find out what places the killer is likely to hit tomorrow, and I need to look up all foreign translations of Swan." 

Jim sighed. "Day Seven -- Seven Swans A-Swimming." He paused. "You don't suppose he could go after someone performing in Swan Lake?" 

Blair looked at his lover in shock. "Shit! I didn't think of that." 

"I'm sure it's playing somewhere, but not here and not this close to Christmas," Jim pointed out. 

"Steven Rosters won the Bird Calling Competition over five months ago," Blair reminded his lover. Taking in Jim's frown, he headed for the bullpen and his list. 

* * *

Armed with the knowledge that the killer wasn't going with just English names, Blair pulled up <http://www.freetranslation.com> and used the English to Spanish feature, also making sure to translate the key terms to French, German, Italian, and any other language they had. Jim called around to find out the names of people who had acted in any local productions of Swan Lake. 

Using words from over half a dozen languages yielded a lot of possible sites: 7 Cisne Circle (Spanish), 7 Cygne Court (French), Ellen Grayson, the owner of Shwan's Deli (German), Grant Bennet, the owner of Il Cigno Bello (or 'Lovely Swan' in Italian) Caf, Jonathan Zwaan, a Dutch immigrant, and 77 Svane Avenue (Norweigan), as well as the English location 777 Swan Dive Drive. 

* * *

"Y'know, it's funny, but the killer isn't really following the letter of the song," Blair mused as he put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. They'd gotten home about an hour ago, and had talked about the case all through dinner. 

Jim's brow furrowed. "Well, I thought he was doing a pretty good job of finding people that fit each of the days." 

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I meant," Blair said, turning on the tap and washing his hands. He grabbed a towel and continued, "The song was originally based on the parochial Twelve Days of Christmas. It was a religious event." 

"A religious event?" Jim raised an eyebrow, scooting over on the couch as Blair flopped down next to him. 

"Mm-hm," Blair returned. "In Protestant churches, anyway. You see, the killer started killing on December 13th, so if we don't catch him in time, he'll kill the twelfth person on Christmas Eve. But the original twelve days of Christmas were the twelve days _following_ Christmas, between Christmas and Epiphany. So if the killer had followed the original twelve days, then the first death would have been on December 26th." 

"And we would have been called in on our week off," Jim pointed, giving Blair a peck on the nose. 

Blair wrinkled said kissed nose and grimaced. "Well, yeah, but that tells me is that the killer is most likely not a very religious person. Either that or they aren't Protestant." 

Jim blinked. He smiled at his partner. Even after hearing his Guide's explanation, he still hadn't put that together so quickly. "So, you think our killer is either a 'Christmas Christian', or a member of a minority faith?" he asked, pleased with his partner's deduction. The former anthropologist was unequivocally the smartest man he knew, and he was proud to have Blair as his lover. 

Blair shrugged, uncomfortable with the admirations in Jim's eyes. "It was just a thought." 

"And a good one, babe." Jim leaned in for a kiss. "Now, why don't we go upstairs, and I'll help you forget about this case for awhile, okay, Chief?" Jim offered, wanting to take his lover's mind off of work for even a few hours. Blair had been running himself ragged trying to find _some_ clue as to the killer's identity. He needed to let go for an evening. 

"I don't..." Blair sighed and nodded, smiling softly at his lover. He could use a break. "Yeah, Big Guy, that does sound good." 

* * *

After all the effort and time they spent _trying_ to catch the killer, actually catching her was a bit anti-climactic. 

Yes, her. The killer was Sheila Roberts, a 4 foot, 8 inch, mousy brunette, with coke bottle glasses. If you passed her on the street, you never would have looked twice; she didn't look dangerous, exciting, or anything but bland. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, she just had a very unassuming presence. 

They wouldn't have caught her if not for Jim. She'd come to the door of 7 Cisne Circle dressed as an Avon saleswoman. Darcy McLean, the resident of the house they were watching, happily let her in. 

* * *

Jim sent his sense of smell out to catalogue the saleswoman at the door of the small blue house they were watching. He quickly sat up in his seat. "I smell gun oil." 

"On the Avon lady?" Blair asked, incredulous, but never one to doubt Jim's senses. "Are you sure it's her, and not your own gun?" 

"Yes. I don't even smell any makeup, which isn't surprising, since the gun oil smell is coming from her sample case." Jim jumped out of the truck and ran towards the house. Blair followed his partner, using his cell phone to call for backup. 

Jim threw his hearing out, hearing Darcy ask to see some samples. He broke down the door, thankful it was a cheap 'frame' door, meaning that it wasn't solid, but hollow in the middle. He trained his gun on the on the brunette who was just opening her sample case -- where her gun was. 

"Drop it, lady." The lady dropped the beige case, a scared look on her face. Jim took out his cuffs and proceeded to read the women her rights. 

Darcy McLean gasped. "What's going on?" she demanded 

Blair put up his hands in a gesture of peace. "This woman is a suspected killer. Why don't you stand over here, out of harm's way, okay?" He took Miss McLean's arm and led her over behind the couch. 

Two hours later, all the paperwork work was finished, and Shelia Roberts was awaiting sentencing. Ballistics had confirmed it, the gun in Sheila's sample case was the same one that killed the first six victims. Forensics had tested the metal in the medallion found with her gun, and it was also a prefect match. A search of her apartment had turned up the other five ornaments, as well as a list of the next five targets. 

* * *

"So why the hell did she do it?" Blair grunted as he carefully maneuvered the pan with the goose into the oven. Neither he nor Jim had ever had a traditional Christmas meal, Naomi always wanting to try something eclectic and Jim's family having gone in for roast beef with all the trimmings, so this, their first Christmas together, they'd decided to go all out. 

Jim sighed and leaned his head against the back of the couch. The Sentinel had gone in to the station that morning to finalize all the paperwork, and now he and Blair had a week off. "Apparently her boyfriend dumped her a few weeks ago, for a 32D bottle blond -- her words, not mine," Jim said at Blair's frown. 

Blair nodded for him to continue. 

"Apparently Sheila has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and after Johnny -- her boyfriend -- left her, she got depressed and went off her meds. She became obsessed with him, with getting him back. The Twelve Days Of Christmas was his favorite Christmas song, and apparently she decided to try and get his attention by killing people that matched up with it. Ironically, it also turns out that Johnny came in third in the Cascade Bird-Calling Competition this year." 

"So it's the spurned lover gig, huh?" Blair said sadly, shaking his head at the waste of human life. He picked up the paring knife and began dicing fruit. Neither he nor Jim were very fond of stuffing, so they'd decided to have fruit salad instead. 

"Yup," Jim confirmed. He looked hard at his lover. "Are you gonna be okay, Chief?" 

Blair sighed, placing the knife on the cutting board. "I will be." He grinned at his lover, walking over and sitting down next to him. "As long as I have you." He leaned in for a kiss. "Now, why don't I put the fruit up, and you can go take my mind off this case, hmm?" 

Jim grinned and returned Blair's kiss. "Anything you want, love," he whispered against his partner's lips. "Anything you want." 

* * *

End The Twelve Murders Of Christmas by Ami: SciFiCatGirl18@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
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